


Small Blessings

by SolarMorrigan



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Scars, Tintin's ambiguous background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all these years, Tintin still manages to surprise Haddock- even when he's not trying</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really nervous about this? Really, really nervous. I haven't actually finished all the books yet and I'm worried I've gotten their characters all wrong and I haven't written anything in a while so this isn't really my best work and... D=
> 
> All the same, I wrote it, and this is such a small fandom, I figured maybe I could still contribute with my little mediocre thing. I'm generally more of a fan of Tintin having grown up an orphan (I believe Herge did state that Tintin didn't have parents, but don't quote me on that), but this was also an idea I had for some reason, so here you go

Bugger of a thing, having to share a hotel room, Haddock decided.  Not least because he had just walked in on his roommate in the middle of changing when all he’d wanted to do was use the head.

Moments before, the morning sun caught Haddock in the eyes and effectively pulled him from sleep—the open curtains were Tintin’s doing, of course, a stealthy way of getting the captain up when he wanted him up—but not necessarily into wakefulness.  Instead, the captain had slurred out a ‘blistering barnacles,’ tossed a hand over his eyes and stumbled towards the tiny en suit of the hotel room he and Tintin had checked into last night, hoping he would be able to wash up without being assaulted by sunlight.  Instead, he had burst in on Tintin as the young man was dressing for the day.

They both stood, stunned, Tintin facing away from the door, undershirt in hand, looking over his shoulder with a somewhat mortified air, and Haddock still gripping the doorknob while internally cursing the fact that there had only been the one room left in the hotel for them to share, and the fact that he had forgotten to knock on the bathroom door, and the fact that Tintin insisted on changing in the bathroom in the first place which turned the whole affair into something sordid, and… what in blue blazes was that on the lad’s back?

Tintin noticed the moment Haddock’s eyes found the scar—a long, jagged mark carved into the flesh of his ribs, running up left side of his back and stopping just beneath his shoulder blade, faded enough to be older but dark enough to have been deep—and turned to face the other man as he struggled into his undershirt.  “I don’t remember that one.” Haddock mumbled, tongue still slack from sleep.

“Sorry?” Tintin asked, his shoulders tense as he turned away again to pick up the rest of his clothes, the scar now effectively hidden beneath his shirt.

“That scar.  You and I have compared battle wounds before, but you never told me about that one.” With some surprise, Haddock realized at that moment that for all the time he and Tintin spent in each other’s pockets, he had never seen Tintin in anything less than an undershirt.

“I don’t suppose I did.” Tintin gripped his trousers and shirt at his side, moving to the doorway that Haddock was still blocking.

“What godforsaken country did you pick that one up in?” Haddock asked, still not quite possessing the wherewithal to get out of his companion’s way.

“Belgium.” Tintin replied, his voice tight.

“Not on some adventure, then?” Haddock’s mind was beginning to catch up with his mouth, but the ill-conceived questions were still coming.

Tintin sighed.  “Not every scar is an adventure, Captain.  Some are just lessons.” He gestured to the room beyond Haddock, “Now, may I please…”

“What lesson was that one, exactly?” Haddock interrupted, raising one thick eyebrow at the younger man.

Tintin looked up at the captain with something akin to disdain.  Or perhaps despair.  Something starting with a ‘d,’ Haddock figured.  He was more or less awake now, and his curiosity, though less ferocious a beast than Tintin’s, was peaked.  He continued to stand in the doorway, and though they both knew Tintin could get past if he really wanted to, Tintin continued to stand there glaring up at him.  “A valuable lesson.” Tintin said finally.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  You must learn to rely only on yourself; often as not, people you are supposed to be able to trust will let you down.”

Haddock blinked, but Tintin held his gaze, uncharacteristically grim for this early in the day, and for all appearances, completely holding belief in the words he had just uttered.  “That… seems a harsh lesson to learn.” Haddock replied finally.

Tintin shrugged, the indecisive gesture unbefitting the so deliberate journalist.  “It’s a large scar.”

“So it is.”

Silence stretched between the two men before Haddock finally stepped away from the door and allowed Tintin to pass.  It didn’t keep the captain from prodding further, however.  “When did you get that one, then?  Looks older.”

Back by his own bed, Tintin had begun to efficiently strip from his pajama pants and dress in his usual uniform.  “I got it when I was old enough to get a job that would take me far away from where I was at the time.”

The only job Haddock had ever known Tintin to have, at least officially, was his investigative reporting for _Le Petit Vingtième_ , which he had held since he was rather young.  Surely Tintin didn’t still believe he could rely only on himself?  Not so much time later, with the friends he had since made… not with Haddock by his side all these years.  But then, Haddock wondered, had he ever been particularly reliable?  “Do you still think that?” The captain asked at last, as Tintin was buttoning his shirt, “Is there anyone at all you rely on?  Even a little?  Or have they all let you down?”

Tintin’s head snapped up at the downturn in Haddock’s voice and stared at the man for a moment.  He seemed almost surprised.  “No, I… I’ve made some very dear friends in the time since I received that scar.  And though they certainly have their quirks, they always come through for me, as I try to for them.” He paused, “You have never let me down, Captain.”

Haddock grinned.  “Nor have you, lad.” He cleared his throat then, never having been good with soft words but attempting to persevere, “And you certainly deserve better than whatever gangrenous gangster gave you that mark.”

Tintin looked away, ostensibly to locate his jacket.  Accepting praise for his work at large was something he could do with grace; accepting praise for who he was, for more personal things, was another story entirely, Haddock had learned.  “Well, it’s certainly informed my interior decorating choices, in any case.” Tintin replied finally, a brittle sort of amusement in his voice.

“…Interior decorating?” Haddock repeated.

“Yes.  Cheap furniture is a poor investment if you intend on falling on it.”

“Falling on it.” Haddock was beginning to feel like a damn parrot.

“Falling on it.  With some force.” Tintin conceded, “And as I do tend to receive some forceful visitors, I happen to like keeping my furniture intact.”

Haddock stood by the bathroom door for a moment longer.  It was a precious piece of information he had just been entrusted with, he supposed, possibly something Tintin had never admitted to anyone else.  He imagined the feel of some piece of broken wood, from a table or chair perhaps, splintering into his back and shuddered.  “Well,” Haddock said finally, “Small blessings and all that, I suppose.”

“Indeed.” Tintin nodded, looking far less ill at ease for his friend’s response, “And please hurry, Captain, we have a lot to do today.”

“Aye, you slave-driving snoop, I’m going.” Haddock grumbled, but noted all the same that Tintin’s usual enthusiastic disposition seemed to have returned, and he allowed it to buoy him through the morning until he could get his hands on some coffee.

Small blessings and all that.


End file.
